Teachable Moments
by Ninja-band-aid
Summary: Kakashi is so critical, and Iruka just can't stand it. He snaps, but all he feels later is regret. How can Kakashi make this right? Written for the "Silent Night" contest.


A/N: I love me. I write shit at the last possible moment. It is now 11:15 on the 9th of June, and I've known about the contest for a month plus. But I feel really good about the storyline, and I think this will be a fun little interlude.

I loved the Silent Night comics, and I truly hope this will do them justice. I actually had a completely different idea when I read them, but it was very specific, AU, and dirty, so I had to do some re-thinking. It was worth it, though, at least I hope so. And now I'll shut up and let you poor people enjoy (or at least not despise) the story.

Reviews fill me with

Unimaginable joy

And motivation

† † †

Teachable Moments

"Nope, you're doing it wrong."

The scarred, black-haired ninja grit his teeth in frustration. "What?" he asked with his voice on the boil.

The silver-haired sensei shrugged. "The humming. You're doing it wrong. You've got the tune all messed up."

Iruka glared at his escort. "Oh you have GOT to be kidding me!"

Kakashi shrugged. "No need to get upset with me. You're the one at fault here."

"I'M the one at fault? Speak for yourself, mister critical!" He groaned and re-tied his ponytail with dramatic, unnecessary force.

Kakashi ignored the second half of the comment. "Yes. You are at fault."

Iruka looked about ready to kill the man. This was the same pattern they'd be following all day – for the past few weeks, in fact. Iruka had elected to halt his ninja training and stop at this point so that he could become a teacher. It was his calling and he knew it. He wanted to help form young minds, to shape a new generation of ninjas. He knew that he could do it, that he could make a difference.

But in order to teach, he first had to learn. So the Hokage had set him up with a mentor, as part of a "shadowing" program (much less sneaky and ninja-like than it sounded, actually), to teach him how to teach. And, lucky Iruka, he'd been set up with Kakashi. At first, he'd been thrilled and a bit intimidated. Such a great ninja, such a great man. So powerful and strong. And he was going to follow him! So exciting! He'd get to see his hero again, up close and personal.

They'd met once before. A late night out, shortly after Iruka had graduated his first serious level of ninja training. He had gone out celebrating with a few friends, getting way tipsier than was really necessary. And Kakashi had been there. In a move he'd never have made sober, Iruka begged the (also slightly drunk) Kakashi for a photograph. He'd agreed. A photograph turned into 'l-lemme, lemme buy you a shot. Yer soo cooolllll….!'… This turned into a few more rounds. And more. And then, somehow, the two ended up in bed.

Iruka was convinced he'd never forget it. The sex hadn't been outrageously memorable (he'd been drunk, memory got fuzzy after too much sake), but afterwards… Kakshi was so quiet, save for slowing breaths. Head pressed to the strong chest, Iruka could hear Kakashi's heartbeat, a cool staccato in the silence of the night. Iruka was convinced he'd never forget it.

When he'd woken up alone the next morning, with the photograph as proof it wasn't just a dream, Iruka convinced himself that Kakashi was a busy man and that, maybe, he'd come see him again. He never had, but it didn't stop Iruka from mooning after him.

He had the worst crush on the man. Kakashi was Iruka's hero – brave and silent and swift and… ahhh, it made his heart speed to even think of being in the same room as the man, sober, on first-name terms. Iruka was just certain that this was going to be wonderful, everything he'd ever dreamed it could be.

But the man had quickly learned that Kakashi was not exactly the epitome of power that he'd assumed. In fact, Kakashi was kind of a dick.

The man was rude, inconsiderate, abrupt, critical, and self-centered. All he ever seemed to do was walk around with his nose in the pages of smutty novels. And when the rare moment came that he actually did something actually important, he vanished, leaving Iruka, the man he was supposed to be instructing, all alone and clueless.

And worst of all… he didn't even remember him.

He'd been doing his best to keep his calm, but Iruka's temper was much too short to last long. And this little tiff was just stupid enough to make him lose it completely.

"It's every little thing with you, isn't it?" he demanded, tossing his hands in the air. "First, my handshake isn't strong enough. Then my handwriting is bad. Then I don't walk quietly enough – we're in the middle of Konoha, who the Hell cares if I walk quietly or not?"

Kakashi stared, flabbergasted, blinking at the young man. But Iruka pressed right on with his rant.

"And that's the other thing! You never let me do anything when you have an _actual_ mission! That's what I'm here to study, and you don't even let me do that! What is your _problem_?" He looked livid now. All of the hurt and frustration of the past two months was pouring from his lips. All of his disappointment, all of his smashed hopes and wants. All of the stinging let down of the hero with whom he'd been in love.

"You're a jerk, Kakashi! A total dick. All you do is walk around reading your stupid girlie books, and it's like I'm not even here! Why won't you even help me? What did I ever do to you, huh?" His voice wavered and cracked, and he was verging to tears.

Kakashi reached foreword to grab Iruka's wrist. "Listen, Iruka, I –" But Iruka wrenched right out of his grasp, reaching up instead to rip the mask right from Kakashi's face. The first time he'd seen his face and, ah, he was just as handsome as Iruka had thought. Ouch.

"You're no ninja," he said scathingly, "You're nothing but a fake. All talk, hiding behind your fucking mask!"

Kakashi was shocked. No one had ever had the guts or the foolishness to remove his mask and show his face, not once. He was at a loss for words.

"I liked you!" Iruka cried, "You were everything I wanted to be! You were the teacher I wanted to aspire to! I've been crazy for you for years! And you don't even care!" He felt like a bad romance novel cliché, weak and foolish and exposed. It made him all the madder, furious with Kakashi and himself.

"I hate you, Kakashi. You're the worst human being I've ever met. I don't know what I saw in you." He turned on his heel and stormed down the road.

Kakashi opened his mouth, but it was as if Iruka read his mind, shouting, "Don't say a damn word to me!"

Kakashi watched Iruka's back retreating into the distance. He was like seeing him for the first time.

† † †

"…'Don't say a damn word to me'… what was I _thinking_?" Iruka whispered to himself. That night, home and alone in his apartment, Iruka was regretting everything. As he'd walked away, the anger and fury had faded into a sick churning in this pit of his stomach. He felt like he'd eaten too much dango in one sitting. His belly rolled hot and sick, his head hurt, and he trembled when he held still too long. And all for what he'd said.

"Well, Iruka," he murmured to himself, curled on the window seat, "You've really gone and done it now, haven't you?"

He'd blown it and he knew it. He'd lost his temper with the person supposed to be teaching him. Kakashi was probably reporting him at that very moment. No way would the Hokage forgive this. Such a short temper around impressionable children? It wouldn't possibly fly. Now he'd never be a teacher.

And all the worse, his hero, his feverent crush, would now surely hate him. Iruka had spat acid, and now it would only serve to fly back in his face. His stomached rolled again, and his eyes pricked with tears.

In the darkness of his apartment, nothing stirred. Only Iruka in his window seat, miserable and alone.

Steam rose from the tea he didn't have the stomach to drink.

Water plinked in the sink he didn't know how to fix.

A footstep creaked on the loose floorboard.

Iruka looked up sharply. Maybe Kakashi was convinced he could do nothing right, but Iruka was not a bad ninja.

He hid behind the doorway, smooth and silent as a true shadow, and watched a man slip into the room.

Iruka leapt. Kunai in hand, he charged the intruder, ready to attack. Wide, bright eyes met him. Scarred eyes. Sharringan eyes. His own eyes widened and he hesitated, giving the intruder the time to hold up a hand.

"Woah! Woah!" Kakashi said, oddly quiet. Without a second thought, he pulled down his mask. The first time he'd bared his face to another of his own will in… it was years now, wasn't it? The shock alone was enough to make Iruka freeze.

They stood there for a moment, breaths hard and steady, hearts hammering wildly in the void of words.

Kakashi smiled, as if this was all just fine. "Well, I'm glad you didn't think I –"

"I told you not to talk to me!" Iruka snapped an interruption. He was not ready to let the man off the hook just yet. He brought the weapon level to their faces, snarling at Kakashi.

Kakashi just stared at him. He blinked. Once. Twice. And then his hand extended, slowly, gently, not at all threatening or harming. Kakashi held the younger man's wrist and tilted it, drawing the blade closer, angling it to his own throat.

"You're doing it wrong," Kakashi whispered, voice so very soft, "Aim it right here."

Grey, fine eyes met dark, narrowed eyes. Kakashi wouldn't let the contact break, and Iruka would not have severed it anyway. They held and the seconds ticked.

Iruka's fingers uncurled from the handle of the blade.

It was as if the world stood frozen.

A teacher doesn't give all praise. That isn't what makes a student learn. A teacher is there to instruct, and to correct. It was all Kakashi ever meant to do. And how could he praise, when 'good form' might give way to 'beautiful form', and 'keep eye contact' to 'your eyes are beautiful'?

The sharp metal spun towards the earth.

And then the damming words.

Still so soft, the silver haired man whispered, "I never forgot you."

The oceans in Iruka's eyes overflowed.

There was a clatter as the blade struck the ground, gouging a scar into the soft wood panels of the floor. A scar to match Iruka's. A scar to match Kakashi's. But the sound went unnoticed by either of them.

They were in each other's arms already. Kakashi reached out, Iruka fell into his arms. He bowed his head to Kakashi's strong shoulder and found that his neck smelled like home.

They held on too tightly to eachother, making up for lost time.

"I never forgot you," Kakashi repeated, breath soft on the shell of Iruka's ear, "and I don't intend to."

The night was silent then, save for heartbeats and breath. But the sound of the love deafened.


End file.
